


Out of Bounds

by seagirl



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Breakup Fic, Damianette, Daminette, Eventual Daminette - Freeform, F/M, Slow Burn, Slow Thaw, chaotic neutral Adrien, no salt, previous Adrienette, unsentimental author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26910388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seagirl/pseuds/seagirl
Summary: Recently dumped, the last thing Marinette Dupain-Cheng wants to do is tail her ex-partner through the slums of Gotham City. But her role as Guardian demands it, and she's determined to find Chat Noir and drag him by the collar back to Paris.In a city of unchecked criminals and hardened heroes, Marinette is firmly in uncharted territory. If she makes it through this ordeal, one thing's certain: she'll never be the same.
Relationships: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Damian Wayne
Comments: 44
Kudos: 183





	1. Disconnect (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome B) Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please observe the rating for now, though it might get bumped down. I know there are a lot of younglings who partake in the Miraculous/Batman crossover, and I don't want to be the one to sully your fresh, squishy minds with the bitter fruits of adulthood. Plenty of time for you to do that on your own!

**238 DAYS AGO**

_“Hi, it’s Adrien. I can’t take your call right meow, so leave a message!”_

“Hey, you missed Patrol yesterday and Queen Bee had to fill in for you. Just letting you know. Okay, bye.”

****

**236 DAYS AGO**

_“Hi, it’s Adrien. I can’t take your call right meow, so leave a message!”_

“Hi, you missed a team meeting tonight, sooo just wanted to check in… Is everything okay? I asked Nino, and he said he didn’t know where you were. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

****

**234 DAYS AGO**

_“Hi, it’s Adrien. I can’t take your call right meow, so leave a message!”_

“Adrien, where the hell are you? I just spoke with Gorilla, and he said he drove you to the airport five days ago. You _know_ you’re supposed to run trips and vacations by me in advance. You’re a Miraculous wielder. You can’t just… Go off grid without telling anyone. Just because we’re not dating… Well, I’m still the Guardian, Adrien. Call me back.”

****

**217 DAYS AGO**

**under__agreste_09’s Instagram account**

[Image description: _A young man and a young woman sit on two bar stools, locked in a kiss. The woman's hands are wrapped around the back of his head, tufts of blonde hair sticking through her fingers. His hands drifts up her back, lifting the back of her blouse._ ]

 **Caption:** guys is this @adrienagreste?? photo taken in gotham, new jersey

 **barbee_girl__:** No bc he lives in Paris

 **forev3r_n0t:** hes dating @mdc_official !!!

 **skrab_11 (@forev3r_n0t):** they broke up

****

_"The number you dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again."_

****

_"The number you dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again."_

****

**176 DAYS AGO**

**itss_evaaaa99's Instagram account**

[Image description: _Inside a club, three women smile at the camera, arms around each others' waists. Behind them, a blonde man sits with long legs crossed on a silver couch, martini in hand. He's looking at the camera and scowling slightly._ ]

 **Caption:** OMG look who's in the background!!! we saw @adrienagreste at ZXC in Gotham City

 **kayladowson443:** Hes too hot to be alone!!!

 **itss_evaaaa99 (@kayladowson443):** lol don't worry he went home with someone

 **hugsrfree01:** I don't think he wants his picture taken lol

 **f0kpain699:** piece of shit just like his dad

****

_"The number you dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again."_

****

_"The number you dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again."_

****

_"The number you dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again."_

****

_"The number you dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again."_

****

_"The number you dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again."_

****

_"The number you dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again."_

****

**92 DAYS AGO**

“So… How did it go?” Sabine asked from the chaise in her daughter’s room.

Sorting through the clothes in her suitcase, Marinette scowled. “Not good. I…” She looked up to meet her mother’s concerned gaze. “Didn’t find a single trace of him. The city is so dense. It could take me a couple months to find him.”

“Sweetie, you’re not going back, are you? You’ve already missed a week and a half of classes!”

Marinette gave her mother a cautious glance as she scooted her pile of dirty laundry towards the door with her foot. “I’m going to take the next semester off to look for him. I’ve decided already.”

“Marinette!” The girl winced at the concern oozing from her mother’s tone. “You can’t put your life on hold looking for an ex-boyfriend.”

“Maman, that’s not why—”

Sabine threw her hands up. “I know, I know. But you can’t put your life on hold for Ladybug, either. Marinette has responsibilities, too.”

Marinette didn’t say anything. Instead, she picked up the pile of clean clothes and began putting them back in her dresser.

Sabine gave a long sigh. “I can tell you’ve made up your mind, Marinette. But I don’t want you moving to Gotham City to stake out Chat Noir all by yourself. You’re saying it might take a couple months? Enroll in a class or two during the day. People disappear in cities like Gotham. You need some kind of support structure so that you’re not totally isolated. Even if it’s just seeing the faces of your teachers and classmates a few times a week.”

“Fine, fine. I was already planning on getting a job, but I’ll take a couple fashion classes at the local university, too.”

Sabine nodded. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That concludes the prologue for Out of Bounds. Thanks for stopping by! Remember to hydrate, do some stretching, and just be really nice to yourself! Take a break from reading fics and go walk around your room.
> 
> Feel free to comment, not comment, anything you like.


	2. She Who Fixes Everything

**FEBRUARY 3, 2023**

“Hey, Marinette.”

The French designer looked up from the trouser leg she was pinning and met the alert, blue eyes of Stephanie Brown. “Hrmm?”

“How old are you again?”

“Neirgh-tee,” said Marinette through a mouthful of pins.

“Cool, that’s what I thought,” said Stephanie in her throaty, tough-girl voice that Marinette found so appealing. _She sounds very Gotham-esque_ , Marinette had noted when they’d first met. “I want to introduce you to my fiancé’s little brother,” continued the blonde woman. “You know, like set the two of you up on a date. What do you say?”

Marinette dropped the folds of Stephanie’s pants, then slowly pulled the pins from her mouth, grateful for the opportunity to stall. “I say…”

 _My first love dumped me, and I’m still wrecked about it,_ thought Marinette.

 _I’m busy tailing the aforementioned first love through the criminal underground of your city,_ she also thought.

Tikki squirmed in the pocket of her blouse, probably guessing at the direction of Marinette’s thoughts. _Easy, Marinette. Keep it together_ , Marinette could imagine her kwami saying.

She settled on a diplomatic response, one that was appropriate for young, in-demand French fashion designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng™. The public face of Marinette, who Had Her Shit Together, along with 90,000 Instagram followers. “That’s kind of you, madame, but I’m not really looking to date anyone while I’m in Gotham. I’m only here for the semester, so it wouldn’t really make sense for me to start anything new.”

Her mind returned to the familiar territory of her breakup, a scarred place in her brain where she heard Adrien saying over and over, “These last two years have been suffocating, Marinette.”

It had been eight months, but the pain still felt raw. Or, not raw… It was more like an old infected wound that still bled on occasion, one that Miraculous Ladybug annoyingly couldn’t fix.

Stephanie was saying something now. “…His loss. I think you’d be really good for him.”

“I thought I was, too,” Marinette agreed wistfully.

“Huh?”

 _Focus,_ she chided herself. _She’s talking about the other guy, not Adrien!_

“I thought I was too… Too young! To be so focused on school and my career. But, you know…” she searched for what to say next. “Fashion is my everything. That’s why I can’t date.”

Before she could cringe too much at her own words, she changed the subject. “Anyways, what’s your fiancé’s brother like?” She stood from her kneeling position and stepped behind the tall woman, then adjusted the collar of the camel-colored blazer.

“A brat,” Stephanie laughed. “He used to drive Tim insane. All his siblings, actually. But he’s matured a lot. He’s a really sweet kid, underneath some of his weird tendencies.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow at the term “weird tendencies” (a red flag if she’d ever heard one), but instead asked, “So, he’s looking for a girlfriend?” She finished pinning the left side of the blazer and moved to the right.

“ _Hell_ no,” Stephanie insisted, eliciting a surprised giggle from Marinette. “But that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have one. He’s only had one girlfriend, and they broke up over a year ago. I think he’s scared to give it another try.”

Marinette hummed in sympathy, feeling like she understood. Just the thought of dating anyone new depressed her even more than this gloomy, crime-filled city did.

A few minutes later, Marinette finished her adjustments and had Stephanie change back into her jeans and sweater. As Marinette took the credit card from her hand, Stephanie brought up the Children’s Museum Gala in four weeks. “Can you design something custom for me? Something formal, but really comfortable.”

Marinette hummed. “I should have enough time,” she said. The boutique’s owner, Kerrie, gave her leeway with accepting custom orders, since Marinette herself was bringing high-profile clients into Fira! from her social media accounts.

She gave Stephanie a brief glance-over, taking in the woman’s tall, muscular figure, minimal makeup, and athletic braid she often wore. Marinette didn’t need to look over the register counter to guess that Stephanie was probably in her usual brown leather combat boots, too. Though Stephanie was rich, she didn’t look or carry herself like you might expect.

“A jumpsuit,” Marinette settled on. “With a weightier fabric. Satin, maybe? And pockets, of course.”

Stephanie gave her a warm grin that had Marinette smiling back. “Sounds awesome, Marinette. We’ll hash out the details over text.” Marinette nodded and sent her off into the chill afternoon with a promise to have her suit alterations done by Wednesday of the next week.

A few hours later, Marinette said goodbye to Kerrie and set off for home. It was February, so the sun had already set and the air bit at her pale face.

As she walked towards one of her go-to alleyways for transforming, her foot met an uneven slab of sidewalk. She fell, palms skidding painfully over the icy concrete.

“UHHH!” she yelled, more in frustration than in pain (though the gashes on her palms stung as they starting to pool with blood).

She made it to the alleyway, then reached into her purse, pulled out her glasses, and slipped them on. “Kaalki, full gallop!”

Marinette stepped from the Fashion District into the cramped kitchen of her studio in New Gotham. “Definitely beats public transport,” she said to herself, then dropped the transformation and put the glasses back in her purse.

“Thanks Kaalki,” she said to the horse kwami, who gave her an imperious head nod.

Tikki zipped out of her bag and placed her tiny paws on one of Marinette’s palms. “You’re bleeding, Marinette!”

Marinette rolled her eyes, annoyed with herself. “Yeah, again,” she said, thinking of all the minor accidents she’d had recently.

She washed her palms in the sink, though she could already see the faint pink glow of healing magic emanating from the wounds. Tikki floated up in front of her, eyes worried. “I thought you’d outgrown your clumsiness several years ago. And your stuttering, too.”

Marinette blushed. It was true; in the past two or three years, her confidence and good luck as Ladybug had bled into her civilian persona. But lately, she felt like she’d been relapsing into her klutzy fourteen-year-old self. “I don’t know what’s going on with me,” she admitted miserably.

“I… Might have a couple ideas,” replied Tikki. Marinette stayed silent, encouraging her kwami to continue. “For one… Gotham seems to be a bedlam for chaos, which works in opposition to your powers.”

“In opposition…?” Marinette questioned aloud. “But Chat Noir is basically the embodiment of chaos, and our powers work in tandem.” She leaned forward on the metal sink and stared out at the brick wall that filled the view out her kitchen window.

“Normally, that’s true,” Tikki agreed. “But… you and Chat Noir are out of balance, Marinette.” The girl winced, though it was true. “That puts you out of sync with the cycles of chaos and destruction in this world.”

Marinette sighed, wondering for the millionth time what was going through Adrien’s head, what he was experiencing. She’d seen tabloid headlines and brief, pixelated video clips, but that had only served to further confuse her.

She set a pot of water to a boil on the stove, then pulled out a ramen packet from the cupboard. “Was there another reason?”

Tikki seemed reluctant to answer. “Marinette… You’ve been very unhappy these last eight months. It’s thrown you out of sync with yourself.”

Marinette looked away from the kwami. She didn’t want to admit the truth, but neither did she have the will to deny it. “What does that have to do with my recent bad luck?”

“You know that aura of good luck that you’ve built around yourself over the years as Ladybug?”

She nodded, thinking back to the two or three years when she’d felt invincible as Ladybug, and by extension, Marinette.

“Well, that aura is dissolving.”

She felt a jolt of shock. “So I’m… losing my powers?”

“No, no!” insisted the kwami, waving her tiny arms. “Well, not in the way you think. They’re just not as strong as they could be.”

Marinette was confused. She turned the stove off, then poured her ramen into a plastic bowl. She stuck a fork and a spoon in the bowl, then placed it on a dinner tray. “Then what…”

“Think of it like this. Marinette draws her power from Ladybug. Well, in turn, Ladybug draws her passion from Marinette. But… both sides of you are sad right now, and it’s dampening your powers. It makes you more susceptible to the destructive forces in a city like Gotham.”

Marinette just sighed as she walked from the kitchenette to her bed in the center of the room. “Tikki, are you trying to tell me that I’ve lost my mojo?

“That’s… actually a pretty good way of putting it,” Tikki agreed.

Tray in hand, Marinette settled carefully onto her bed. “Life was so good after we defeated Hawkmoth. I was really happy. Sometimes, I wish I could just… stay there.”

Tikki nuzzled her shoulder. Marinette stroked the kwami gently in return.

“I’m sorry, Marinette. I wish I could tell you that Ladybugs have easy lives, but they don’t. You and Chat Noir are the embodiments of Creation and Destruction. The only constant between you two… Is change. You can’t help but change yourselves in the process.”

“How… how do we keep ourselves from changing the _wrong_ way? We… we were supposed to be together. That was the plan. I don’t…” Marinette broke into soft sobs. Tikki rubbed her back with her tiny paw. “Shh, it’s okay Marinette. It’s going to be okay.”

Change had certainly visited Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And it had dragged her to Gotham City.

****

Two nights later, Marinette caught sight of her target. It was only the second time she’d been able to spot him, considering his costume change and extremely sporadic appearances as both Adrien and Chat.

There had been minimal media and social media coverage about French model Adrien Agreste’s playboy activities in the Gotham night scene. Still, she’d been able to infer a few things from the information, like where Adrien might be living.

She’d stumbled upon a video from seven months ago of a fully costumed Chat Noir grabbing a woman’s purse from her and throwing it out of reach, onto a flagpole. It was the only sighting of the former hero she could find. Luckily, the video was pixelated and had a low view count. No one else seemed to recognize who he was.

After that first sighting, Chat Noir completely disappeared. In his place cropped up a new criminal with enhanced strength and semi-invulnerability—a drop in the ocean of criminals in Gotham, but noteworthy for the criminal’s suspected metahuman abilities. From the photos, Marinette could see that his suit looked almost identical to Chat Noir’s but had been scrubbed clean of any traces of the cat.

Online articles nicknamed this criminal the Poacher, a reference to his earliest crimes in Gotham, when he would interrupt crimes-in-progress and make off with the stolen items himself.

Nine days ago, Marinette caught sight of the Poacher for the first time. She watched him rob a mall with two teammates. At the end, he’d lugged home his share of the spoils.

Tonight, she spotted him again in Gotham’s Financial District. He and a team of three other criminals rappelled down the slick glass of a skyscraper and punctured a window on the 32nd floor. She looked up the address on her yo-yo, determining that the business was a wholesale jeweler.

From her vantage point on a rooftop across the street, she couldn’t be 100% sure it was Adrien. But she was fairly confident it was. Underneath his black hood, she thought she saw a flash of blond. She recognized the jaunt of his gait, the shape of his legs. And—well, she knew that leather-clad ass; had known it intimately at one point in time.

The team was quick in dissembling the display cases and raiding the jewelry. And it seemed they’d blocked the alarm system from triggering, too. They were alert, but not cautious or rushed in their actions.

She watched them for about ten minutes. Right before the team prepared to make their escape, Ladybug swung through the broken window on the 32nd floor and landed almost silently on the marble showroom floor. The man in the black hood was closest to her. He whipped around, baton raised—

His green eyes widened in shock, then they narrowed. He lowered the baton only slightly as he appraised his ex-girlfriend.

Ladybug spared a glance at the other crew members and saw two guns and a whip trained on her. She determined she could take the three of them out if she needed to, but they weren’t the ones who were making her pulse spike. She returned her gaze to the greatest threat in the room, who was still glaring silently.

“Really outstanding work here, Chat Noir,” she said in French, gesturing to the scene of broken display cases. She watched the way his shoulders tensed at the sound of his superhero name, and he looked back at his teammates—probably to gauge their reactions. Adrien had never been good at hiding his feelings. His reaction revealed that the others likely didn’t know his superhero identity.

The two men with the guns looked wary, while the whip wielder leaned forward, head cocked. “Is this a friend of yours?” she asked Chat. Her voice was high-pitched and youthful, and her English had a noticeable accent that Marinette thought might be Mexican.

Chat Noir adjusted his weight casually, but it did not escape Ladybug’s notice that his body now blocked her view of his teammates as much as possible. “We know each other,” he called back in English, eyes now fastened on Ladybug’s. “Listen guys, we’re done here anyways. You guys head out, take the stairs. She and I will wrap up here.”

“Sure, suit yourself. Be careful, though.” The diminutive young woman (a teenager, maybe) peered around Chat Noir’s shoulder at Ladybug, head cocked in curiosity, then darted through the door and into the stairwell with her teammates.

Chat made his way over to one of the display cases that had been split open. He leaned against an unbroken edge. They waited for the sound of his teammates’ footsteps to fade.

“So,” he said finally. She waited for him to continue, but he let the silence drag on, eyebrow raised at her. Underneath his hood, the same green eyes and sclera gazed back at her. But the fondness she’d grown accustomed to was gone, swallowed up by an unflinching wildness that made her want to look away. She fought that impulse.

“What are you doing here?” she finally said.

He shrugged. “Whatever I want.”

The silence stretched on, so Ladybug obliged in filling it again. “Like… committing crimes with your powers?”

“I mean…” Chat tilted his head in deliberation. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but you’re not exactly wrong. How’d you find me?”

A surge of anger carried her feet forward, closer to her ex-partner. She felt her lip curl as she demanded, “No. You do not get to change the subject right now. You’ve been committing crimes with a Miraculous! Robbing people. I haven’t been able to get ahold of you in seven months. Tell me what’s going on. _Now_.”

Chat sighed. He lifted a hand, as if to run it through his hair. He dropped it when he remembered the hood on his head. “Listen, I’m… sort of working on something right now. A case, of sorts.”

“That’s all you’re going to say? You know I’m the Guardian of your Miraculous, right?”

“It’s all I can tell you right now,” he said stubbornly. “Anyways, you should go.” He eyed her critically. “You’re looking too thin, Ladybug. Go back home and eat some macaroons. Forget about me for a while.”

“Chat… I’m not playing around. This isn’t a joke to me.” She stepped towards him. “If you want to keep that Miraculous, you’re going to give me a report on all your activities since you went offline, and I will decide whether you can continue with your mission.”

He crossed his arms. “No.”

She swallowed. “Then take off that ring.”

“Who are you, my father?”

She fumed, then charged him. “No, I’m the fucking _Guardian_.”

He blocked her punch, but she swung again, hitting him in the gut.

“You are throwing off the balance of the world,” she grunted. “We’re supposed to be partners. Why can’t you just—”

“You and I will NEVER be in balance if you can’t let me go. Leave. Let me make my own decisions, for _once_.”

He sent out a sweeping kick that sent her sprawling across the floor. She rolled out of the way of another kick, then tried to spring back up to her feet. However, Adrien loomed over her and pushed her down again.

Fear lanced through her body. “You’re off your game, Bug,” he noted, but she managed to somersault backwards, landing on her feet.

She was losing control of the fight. She sprinted towards the broken window and leapt out, free falling into the black night below for a moment. She sent her yoyo flying upwards and swung herself onto the roof.

She was worried he wouldn’t follow her, but his boots thudded on the roof ten seconds after hers. She threw the next punch and he caught it, twisting her arm before she yanked it back.

“Guess you’re a lot stronger when you’re not constantly trying to hit on your partner,” she mocked, wiping her face free of the pain she felt in her wrist.

“Guess I’m a lot stronger without that partner at all,” he said, not breaking his concentration for a moment.

Ladybug aimed her yoyo at his legs, but her aim was off and she pulled back empty air.

And then she tripped on her own feet.

The suit cushioned the impact on her knees and hands, but the surprise of falling by her own means was a shock unto itself. She felt fourteen all over again. But this time, when her eyes sought Chat Noir’s, she didn’t find reassurance.

He grinned. “Feeling unlucky, Ladybug?”

She was up on her feet in an instant, but he was impossibly faster. A brutal fist collided with her gut, and she fell again. She rolled out of the path of Chat’s extended baton, and the sound of its crack against the rooftop resounded in the night.

 _That would have broken my sternum_ , she thought, chilled, but pulled her thoughts together as the two circled each other.

Ladybug was playing defense now against a stronger, feral Chat Noir. She evaded a series of punches she was familiar with, but then he caught her off guard with a swipe of his claw that tore through her suit and left her upper arm bleeding. She cried out in pain, and narrowly missed the next swipe.

The entire interaction threw her off balance, and he took advantage of that fact with a leg kick and a smash of his baton against her side. She felt her ribs crack and gasped. She stumbled back, shielding herself with her yoyo as she crossed to the other side of the roof.

Chat Noir stepped forward, watching for an opening. He warned her, “Leave Gotham. Or I will end this, one way or another.”

She glared back at him, heaving laborious breaths as her mind sought a way to bring Adrien back, willing or unwilling.

She aimed her yoyo towards Chat Noir, and he jumped. When she felt the yoyo wrap around the vent behind him, she pulled. As she slid underneath him, she managed to kick him in the groin. He crumpled in pain.

Marinette sprung to her feet and shouted, “Lucky Charm!”

Pink exploded across her vision. For a few seconds, she was virtually invincible as she reached up and into the wellspring of creation. She secured her hands around it—a tranquilizer gun, her choice—and pulled it down into form.

The pink started to fade, and Ladybug—

A pair of hands shoved her off the roof.

She was spinning wildly as she fell. How many floors was this building? Forty? The pink light from her Lucky Charm cleared, giving way for the violent clash of darkness and fluorescent streetlights below.

She cast her yoyo out, praying for purchase on something—a ledge or a flagpole, anything. Falling, falling, falling... The hideous yellow-green of the ill-lit cement below would be her last—

Her yoyo caught, arresting her momentum and yanking her body up like a rag doll. But then it slipped free, and she screamed as she fell the last eight stories.

****

“...ake up. You alive?"

Ladybug’s eyes blinked open. _Chat Noir_.

"Où est-il allé?" she demanded. She tried to sit up, but the muscles in her body weren't responding. Without moving her head, she looked down at her body and saw tiny pink ladybugs at work. _Good_ , she thought.

"Speak English," said the deep, masculine voice above her. "Also, you just fell off a building. Do you need an ambulance? You a meta human?"

She ignored him and tried again to move, this time succeeding to prop herself up. It hurt too much to crane her neck up to look at the man's face, so she didn't. Instead, she blinked slowly at the concrete while she asked in English, "Where is Chat Noir?"

"You mean the guy who chucked you off the roof? He's gone. Who is he, a new villain? Pretty sure I came towards the end of your fight, but it looked like you were interrupting a robbery."

She said nothing, not wanting to incriminate her former partner. Not while she held onto the hope of saving him. The man seemed to interpret her silence the wrong way. "Wait, are you a villain?"

"Of course not!" Unthinkingly, she'd snapped her head up to glare, then winced at the horrible pain that referred from her neck all the way down her spine.

But pain was not her present concern, because she was staring up at a red leather mask without a nose or a mouth.

"GAH!” Ladybug tried to scramble away from the man. “Are YOU?"

Dear Lord. She had just been unconscious and vulnerable on the ground, at night, in _Gotham City_.

“I mean,” said the man in the red mask, “mostly not, but that’s the kind of high-minded question I don’t really think about. The important thing is that Batman lets me come and go freely in his city, and as a courtesy in return, I don’t stay for long."

She noticed the bat symbol on the man’s chest. "You work with Monsieur Batman? I haven't met him."

"If you keep picking fights with criminals on rooftops, you will soon enough. No vigilante stays in Gotham without his approval. He’s extra picky about meta’s, by the way. In his eyes, they’re practically criminals in their own right.”

Ladybug sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was attract Batman's attention to her or her former partner. She tried rerouting the conversation. “I’m Ladybug. I’m not from around here.”

She was going to hold up a hand, but winced as she tried to move her arm. _Not yet_ , she thought.

The man cocked his head. "That explains your fancy accent, I guess.” He pointed a gloved hand to the subtle magic weaving in and out of her body. “Also, you've got pink bugs crawling all over you. Anyways, Red Hood.”

A red hood? She glanced down. Her costume didn’t have—oh, that was his name.

“Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Red Hood.” Marinette finally teetered to her feet, observing a few stabs of pain along her pelvis and back, but feeling much better nonetheless. Her head was still swimming. Brain trauma was the slowest to heal, after all.

Red Hood seemed to size her up. "Impressive regen abilities. But you're small, Spots. And no offense, but that guy was kicking your ass. Are you sure you should be out here, doing this stuff?" he said, gesturing to the street around them.

Oof.

 _Oh, if the people of France could see their beloved Ladybug now_ , she thought.

"I... My magic hasn't been up to full strength lately, whereas my old partner’s seems to have gotten stronger."

Somehow, Red Hood managed to look skeptical with his face covered entirely.

"I'll be honest, Spots—"

"It's Ladybug," she corrected him.

“—In the rest of the world, your physical combat skills are probably good. You were probably the toughest kid at your dojo. But here in Gotham?” he pointed a gloved finger at her chest, and she felt herself wilt. “You’re average, and average won't cut it. If your powers aren’t working, and you’re out here having to rely on your human abilities alone, you’re as good as dead on these streets. Batman will probably boot you from the city on that reason alone.”

“I won’t leave,” insisted Marinette. “I came here to save someone, and I’m staying until I’m able to take him with me.”

"What if you die in the process?"

"That's not going to happen."

He laughed, and there was something bitter in the sound. "It’s easier than you think. Look, I think you're running full speed towards your own death. That guy outclassed you, bad. If you're trying to take him down—"

 _Save him_ , Marinette corrected in her mind.

"—you can't do it at your current capacity."

Red Hood gave her the name and address of a gym.

"The owner is good. Really good. And you won't have to worry about me sussing out your identity, since I never go there myself—"

 _Unlikely you could_ , thought Marinette, _with the suit’s glamours_.

"—and I won't tell the owner I sent you there.”

Marinette repeated the address in her mind, wincing at the way her head throbbed at the effort. "Thank you," she said.

"Stay alive, kid." Red Hood stalked towards a large motorcycle parked along the curb. The man was over 190 centimeters of stiff shoulders and jerky movements. _That guy could really benefit from some yoga_ , she noted idly.

"Red Hood."

Seated on the back of his motorcycle, he looked up. If she had been able to see his face, his eyebrow would probably be raised.

"Are you going to tell Batman about me?"

Red Hood slipped on his helmet. "Why would I? He'll find out for himself anyways."

Marinette stayed in the suit for another hour. Ladybug's passive healing ability was the strongest out of all the Miraculouses. And though Marinette retained some of Ladybug's regenerative abilities outside the suit, it was more potent when she was transformed.

She swung noiselessly to the top of a building two blocks away, not wanting to attract any more attention than she already had tonight. There, overlooking the Financial District, she sat and grieved for another skyline. How quickly her life had fallen apart these last eight months, once Adrien had walked away.

Marinette detransformed, then pulled Kaalki’s glasses out of her purse and slipped them on.

Once back in her apartment in New Gotham, she dropped the second transformation and crawled into bed in the pants and blouse she'd worn to work that day.

It wasn't until the next morning that she realized she completely forgot the address Red Hood had given her.

 _Damn concussion_ , she thought.

****

Feet propped up on the desk of the Batcomputer, Damian oiled the hook of his grappling gun with a rag as he listened to an audio recording of a recent class lecture.

He heard two steps of footsteps enter the Cave, and he passively tracked their progress through its winding metal walkways. Eventually, he could make out the voices.

“…but she’s been helping me cross-reference cases in Blüdhaven, which has narrowed down my list of suspects to only three guys. I’m pretty sure he’s based in Gotham,” said Dick.

Jason voiced his agreement as the two arrived at the control center.

Damian had just set aside the grappling hook and moved onto the barrel of the grappling gun when a familial hand ruffled his hair. “Hey Dames, we need the computer.”

There was a time—years ago—when he would have broken the hand on his head. But almost a decade with his father, nine months in a monastery in Tibet, and five years of leading the Titans had tempered his _other_ nature.

Tonight, Damian felt quiet. Calm, even.

Wordlessly, he moved his equipment and his study materials to the smaller, adjacent workstation. He was pulling up the lecture on his phone, when Todd asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be away at school?”

“New Gotham is only a fifteen-minute drive away on my motorbike.”

Jason walked over to the workstation Damian had relocated to. He picked up Damian's stack of study notecards and rifled through them, then held up a notecard of _The Birth of Venus_.

“What is this, Intro to Art History? You could take this test after a three-day bender and with a knife wound in your abdomen and still get an A.”

Damian snatched his notecards from Jason’s grasp and shuffled them back into proper order. He happened to agree with Jason’s assessment, but he still echoed his father’s reasoning. “That’s not the point of school. I’m learning how the average person lives. How they think, what they experience.”

“It’s a Friday night, and you’re tucked away at your dad’s house, studying for a test you know you’ll ace. What exactly are you learning about the average person, numbnuts?”

“You didn’t go to college in the first place, so I don’t know where you get off lecturing me about my choices, Todd.”

Dick chimed in from his seat in front of the Batcomputer. “I happen to agree with Jason on this. You only get to be young once, Damian. You should be drinking flat beer and talking to girls. Not oiling your equipment in the Batcave.”

Jason smirked. “Well, what Robin hasn’t put in their time _oiling their equipment_ —” he used air quotes, “—in front of the Batcomputer?”

Damian gave an exaggerated eye role, while Dick chuckled. “That’s definitely true. I don’t think you’re really a Robin until you’ve rubbed a few ones out in the Batcave.”

Jason agreed. “I’ve logged probably ten or twenty wanks in here.”

“I think you perverts are missing the part where I’m _actually_ oiling my equipment.”

They weren’t listening, though. “That’s it?” Dick asked, surprised. “I think I’ve done it dozens of times. More, if you count the times I was with Kori.”

Damian leaned forward in his own chair and logged into the computer at his workstation. He pulled up the security feeds in the Batcave. “Have you two forgotten that every inch of this cave is surveyed with cameras?” He gestured to the monitor, which showed over a hundred views of the Bat Cave—several featuring the three of them in the control center.

“We didn’t forget,” replied Dick easily. “Kori and I made copies.”

“You know,” considered Jason. “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on one of those copies.”

Damian swiveled his chair around to face his brothers. “Todd, you’re better off getting your hands on an actual girlfriend,” he said. “Not your foster brother’s sex tapes.”

“Says the only virgin in the Bat Family,” Jason shot back.

“Unlike you, I actually choose to be single. I have a job to do, one that I actually take seriously. I don’t need or want to fill my life with pointless distraction.”

Dick stood up, rubbing his face with his hand. “Ugh, your parents really did a number on you, Damian.”

 _Great,_ thought Damian as Dick walked over to him. _Cue the emotional lecture._ His older brother put a fatherly hand on his shoulder, which Damian eyed with distaste.

“Look, sex is one thing. But love,” Dick said, his tone softening, “is something entirely different. It’s not a distraction or a weakness. You know, if you think about it, it’s why we’re here—why we put on the cowl in the first place. Bruce would probably agree with me.”

Unfortunately, Dick was probably right on that last count. “Yes, well. Father’s grown sentimental since he retired,” retorted Damian. “Do you think he would have agreed with you if you’d asked him while he was in his prime?”

Jason barked a laugh. “Definitely not.”

Dick glared back at Jason. “Not helping right now.” He turned his gaze back to Damian. “You should try going on a date one of these days, Damian,” he suggested. “Isn’t Stephanie always trying to set you up with girls? Or—” his tone shifted to one of excitement. “Oooh! You should ask out a girl from one of your classes!”

Damian had spun his chair away from Dick and pulled up the hood on his jacket, the universal signal for _screw off_. “No,” Damian snapped. He put in his earbuds and tuned his brothers out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho boy, first chapter up! Thanks for reading, everyone. If you feel like commenting and sharing about your experiences, thoughts, feedback, etc., just know that's something I really welcome. I'm here on tumblr if you want to chat 'bout stuff:  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/samwitch-42
> 
> This fic really took me by surprise. I had no idea I would be writing a Miraculous/Batman crossover fic. I suppose I was really enjoying a lot of the cool ideas being thrown around in these damianette fics, and wanted to put my own take on it. I tend not to resonate much with salt fics, as I am already a salty, well-seasoned adult in my mid 20s. I have been an asshole many times over, and I have dealt with many assholes in return. Just kind of how it goes *shrugs*
> 
> I wanted to see Marinette, as a young adult, not have her life turn out the way she expected. I wanted to see her move to Gotham, get her ass kicked, and learn from it. I wanted her to get her heart broken, and work through it and find more of herself on the other side. Why? Because I went through all that shit, and my life actually turned out pretty incredible as a result. Or should I say... Miraculous? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> I'll let myself out.


	3. He Who Ruins Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Crack" fic (≖ ͜ʖ≖)
> 
> Please observe the rating.

**238 DAYS AGO - FLASHBACK**

Adrien wheeled his suitcase out the automatic doors of Gotham City Airport. “Do you feel it?” he murmured in French into his gray hoodie.

“Oh, yeah,” came the reply. Two glowing green eyes had appeared in the juncture where Adrien’s neck met his shoulders. The eyes seemed to hungrily take in the bustle of cars and people, the amalgam of glass and steel and concrete that made up the cityscape around them.

He flagged down a taxi, and they made their way into the city.

An hour later, Adrien lay sprawled out on the plush king-sized mattress of his suite at the Hilton. He twirled the phone cord around his fingers and said, “Hi, yes. Can you bring up two cases of Evian water, a hamburger and fries—"

“And some Camembert,” Plagg reminded Adrien.

“—and a round of camembert?” Adrien paused, listening to the voice on the other end of the phone. “Sure, that’s fine,” he acquiesced. He hung up the phone, then flopped back down and stared up at the ceiling.

His kwami zipped in front of him excitedly. “Well?”

“They’re going to special order your camembert. They sent up some brie in the meantime.”

Plagg hummed in contentment, then gestured animatedly with his paws. “You know, there’s a cheese shop only four blocks away I think we should go to. I think you’d really love it.”

“Oh, really?” snorted Adrien. “How thoughtful of you to find a cheese shop just for me.”

“What can I say?” said Plagg, missing (or ignoring) Adrien’s sarcasm. “I’m a thoughtful guy.” He wrapped his paws around the handle of the mini fridge and gave a mighty heave. It opened with a pop. He rooted through the draws, complaining about the absence of food in them.

Adrien tuned him out, drawn into his own internal process. His giddy sense of freedom was readily disappearing, only to be replaced by less enjoyable emotions. On the surface, he felt a deep anxiety. But underneath it was a gnawing emptiness that threatened to pull him under.

He covered his face with his hands and groaned. “I can’t believe I _moved_ to Gotham. What the fuck?”

He sprung off the bed, suddenly restless, and started pacing the length of the suite. He was alone, in the most crime-filled city in America. Why had he—

“Hey kid, come here,” said Plagg. He’d flown over to the window wall at the far end of the suite. Adrien glanced over impatiently, but followed his kwami’s instruction. “What?” Then, his eyes fell on the city view below. He put his hands on the glass and leaned forward, captivated.

“You feel that pull?” said Plagg, putting his own paws against the cool glass.

Adrien met his gaze and nodded.

“That’s why we’re here. You may not understand it yet, but trust your instincts, Adrien. They led you here for a reason.”

Adrien rested his forehead against the window, eyes tracking the headlights of cars below. Finally, he sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

Other than his credit card company, Adrien hadn’t told anyone about his move to Gotham.

Only Gorilla knew the haziest of details, since he’d driven Adrien to the airport. Marinette would probably home in on the man like a heat-seeking missile in her search for information about Adrien. But all Gorilla knew was what Adrien brought with him (two suitcases and a backpack) and which terminal he’d been dropped off at.

She wouldn’t know where he’d gone or for how long, and Adrien hoped to keep it that way—at least, for as long as possible.

 _God, she’s going to freak out,_ he thought.

That inevitability made his stomach twist.

****

Nine days later, Adrien had not done much with his fresh start.

Plagg finally roused himself from his napping spot in the closet when his Chosen’s pathetic mewling became unbearable. He phased through the closet wall, then shook his head at what he found.

Adrien sat on the floor, slumped against his bed in nothing but yesterday’s boxers. He held a near-empty bottle of red wine to his lips and sang in English along to the music blasting from his portable speakers. “Losing her was blue like I’ve never known. Missing her was dark gr—gray, all aloooone…”

Adrien’s face crumpled, tears spilling from his eyes. He wiped them, then tilted his head back and took a swig of wine.

Plagg crossed the suite, flying over five empty bottles of wine and a half-empty bottle of cognac, all of which Adrien had purchased only two days ago with a fake ID.

“But loving her was red!” Adrien shouted, then he broke down in earnest, sobbing, “Burning reeeedddd…”

The kwami unlocked Adrien’s phone on the nightstand with a tiny paw, and the suite went silent. He flew down to meet Adrien’s electric green eyes, filled with tears. “Stop. Thinking. About. Marinette,” he said, emphasizing each word with a jab of his paw. “You and pigtails _broke up_ last month, remember? You’re not dating anymore.”

Adrien groaned. “Plagg, I’ve made a horrible mistake. I can’t believe I broke up with _Ladybug_. What was I thinking?”

“You’re going out tonight,” Plagg insisted. “You’ve been here for over a week, and all you’ve done is mope around in your room. If you’re going to develop a drinking problem, at least have the _decency_ to do it out there—” he pointed out the window, “—where it’s fun!”

Cowed into an embarrassed silence, Adrien followed the direction of Plagg’s paw. His eyes swept over Gotham, lit by an orange, late afternoon sun. He felt a pleasurable tug in his gut.

He heard the shower turn on. “I’m going to flood the bathroom if you don’t get your butt in here, Adrien!”

He rolled his eyes but stood, stretching out a cramp in his left leg.

 _Maybe Plagg has a point,_ he thought, walking to the bathroom. _Let’s just see how things go after one night._

****

Adrien woke up with a pounding headache and his hand on the boob of a total stranger.

Well, she wasn’t a total stranger if he knew her name, right? It was Mackenna.

 _Mackenzie,_ he corrected himself. Mackenna was from last week. He stifled a groan and carefully extricated his hand from her rather nice—

“Another one?” said Plagg. He hovered in front of the bed, peering down shamelessly with glowing green eyes.

Adrien started, then hastily drew up the sheet, covering the visual assortment of unclothed body parts. The girl, whose face was framed by chunks of long dirty-blond hair, did not stir.

“Jesus _fuck_ , Plagg,” Adrien hissed. “Get out!”

“You know, it’s my room too,” the kwami sniffed, floating towards the closet.

Adrien couldn’t help but shoot back a whispered retort. “I’ll agree with that statement when you start paying half the hotel bill.”

Plagg spun around and glared, and Adrien regretted his words immediately. He was well aware that the two of them together couldn’t muster up a single speck of self-control.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” said Plagg, crossing his tiny arms and disregarding Adrien’s shushes. “These girls get more use out of your room than I do! You let Alexis order a _steak_ last Saturday, while I’m not even allowed to use the credit card!”

The young woman next to Adrien chose that moment to groan. Having almost no recollection of Alexis at all, Adrien appreciated the distraction.

He and Plagg locked eyes. Adrien pointed a firm finger at the closet. Plagg rolled his glowing green eyes, but disappeared without further noise.

****

An hour and a half later, once Adrien had sent Mackenzie off with a kiss on the cheek and he’d had a chance to shower and order food, he and Plagg finally sat down at the table for lunch. Well, Adrien sat and Plagg hovered with a slab of Camembert.

Adrien had always been under the impression that women found him funny. Since his first night out over three weeks ago, the truth had dawned on him that what they _really_ found him was rich and good-looking.

“Quit sulking,” said Plagg. “What’s wrong with girls shagging you for your cheekbones?”

Adrien scowled over his burger. “I didn’t _choose_ the way I look, or my inheritance. I choose my jokes! They’re hand-crafted,” he argued, then bit into a steak fry.

“You’re looking at this the wrong way,” said Plagg. “It’s impressive that these girls are still sleeping with you, _despite_ your jokes. Remember two nights ago, when that girl asked you if you were French, and you said, ‘Yeah, that’s probably why _Eiffel_ for you.’”

Adrien cocked his head, trying—and failing—to dredge up wine-soaked memories. Finally, he grinned. “I don’t remember, but that’s hilarious. No wonder she went home with me.”

Plagg scoffed. “She didn’t even get the joke. But she did keep trying to speak to you in French,” he finished gleefully.

Adrien rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Then he opened his mouth, but hesitated.

“What? Spit it out, kid.”

“It’s just… Why aren’t you more, you know… disapproving, of me hooking up with random girls?”

Plagg laughed. “Are you seriously trying to set your moral compass based on _me_? You know what I am, right?”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Yes, I _know_ what you are, merci beaucoup. But aren’t I like, screwing up by not being with Marinette? You know, since she’s like… my _soulmate_?”

Plagg shrugged. “Not really, no.”

Adrien felt a wave of frustration he didn’t quite understand. He felt compelled to defend the sanctity of his failed first love. “What do you mean, _no_? Ladybug and Chat Noirs are destined to be together. We are literally two halves of the same—"

“Kid,” interrupted Plagg. “That’s a nice story, but it’s not a good enough reason to be with someone who’s just not right for you.”

Adrien opened his mouth to argue, but Plagg quickly added, “Look, I like Marinette. I think she’s a great Guardian and Ladybug, for the most part. But by the time you broke up with her, you two were very wrong for each other. You needed to get out of that relationship.”

“Plagg,” insisted Adrien. “Weren’t all the best Chat Noirs and Ladybugs lovers?”

“Some of them were,” said Plagg. “But some of the worst ones were, too. I can’t tell you how many of our Chosen’s ended up together because they thought they had to be together, and it slowly killed their partnership.”

Adrien pondered Plagg’s words for a moment, then finally sighed. He pushed his plate to the side, then folded his arms on the table and laid his head down on them. “I feel like Marinette is the better half of me, and I’m letting everyone down,” he mumbled. “I feel like there’s something wrong with me for not being able to make things work with her.”

“Ladybug is far from perfect, Adrien.”

“I know, but—"

“Plus, there was that whole business between her and Hawkmoth at the end. You can’t tell me it didn’t—"

Adrien cut in, an edge to his voice. “Plagg, I don’t want to talk about that.”

The sunny aura that always clung to Adrien began to dissipate. Plagg seemed to choose his next words carefully, but persisted. “So do you think the final outcome was fair? Was justice served?”

Adrien sat back up and began cutting the remains of his burger into tiny pieces with a steak knife. “It doesn’t matter what I think now. She did what she thought was best, and I forgave her,” he replied without looking up.

“How can you forgive Marinette when you were never allowed to be mad at her in the first place? God forbid you were to criticize the high and mighty Ladybug for—”

Adrien slammed the butt of the steak knife onto the table and glared up at his kwami, nostrils flaring. “Watch what you say about her.”

Plagg floated in front of Adrien’s face and cocked his head. “You know, I thought you would have finally outgrown this self-effacing _sidekick_ bullshit by now. But here you are, simping over Ladybug and defending her mistakes when she’s an ocean away.”

“Plagg, shut up.”

“I hear your dad’s getting out in a couple years,” Plagg taunted. “On good behavior. After everything he did to you, all of Paris, Nathalie, your mother…”

Adrien couldn’t take this anymore. He’d set the knife down, and his left hand hovered over the silver ring on his right ring finger, poised like a snake.

Plagg caught the motion and narrowed his eyes. Two sets of green eyes pinned one another other for a fraught moment, until Adrien dropped his hands and glared down at the floor.

****

Their conversation marked a shift in Adrien’s mental state that seemed to wash the city around him in a layer of pessimism. Or, perhaps the city had changed the boy. Rose-tinted glasses crushed underfoot, Adrien felt a resonance with Gotham that he hadn’t felt when he first arrived a few weeks ago.

That resonance drew him deeper into the city’s night scene. Excursions to bars and clubs formed the foundation of a nightly ritual, and that ritual expanded to include a darker kind of fun. He traded his easy smiles and puns for a more intense kind of seduction with women.

After accepting a tab of Molly from a girl one night, Adrien familiarized himself with new kinds of pleasure, as well. These pleasures made him friends, of a sort, and led him to parties and circles of sin he’d barely even glimpsed in Paris.

****

Chat Noir’s first appearance in Gotham was unplanned, and Adrien was conflicted about the results.

On an evening jog around the Financial District, Adrien stumbled on a mugging. Acting on instinct, he darted into a stairwell and transformed, then rushed in to stop it. The assailant, a chubby teenager of 15 or 16, wrestled with a woman in her 40s over a red purse.

Despite the advantage of weight, Chat thought that the young man didn’t look equal to the task of prying full-priced Gucci from the hands of his angry victim. He guessed that the thief would shortly give up and run. While he looked harmless, he still needed to face real consequences for his actions—which Chat would dutifully hand out.

He elbowed the kid in the gut, and the woman wasted no time to yank her purse back while the kid doubled over. Chat grabbed a fistful of his sweatshirt and tossed him into some garbage cans—a move that would leave him frightened and bruised, but not seriously injured. Chat Noir checked him for a weapon, but found nothing.

Satisfied, he turned to the woman and offered to walk her to her destination safely. The woman thanked him and, with a polite smile, declined his offer.

They proceeded in opposite directions. He had walked half a block and was scouting for a place to drop his transformation, when he heard the warbling discharge of a taser.

 _Shit,_ he thought, sprinting back.

He found them both in the same alleyway. But the woman, quite brazenly, had pulled a reverse Uno card on the situation. The young man lay curled on his side, body spasming periodically from the taser barbs in his chest. The woman kicked him repeatedly in the stomach, grunting abuses all-the-while.

“…little fucking creep. Didn’t anyone tell you that in the Financial District, we protect what’s ours? People lose _fingers_ here for crimes like yours.” She walked up the length of his body and raised her heel again.

There was something about the sight of those wicked, thousand-dollar Manolos aimed at the face of an unarmed teenager that pushed Chat Noir past the point of rational thought.

He was upon her in the merest fraction of a second. He grabbed the purse on her shoulder and yanked. The woman flew back, crying out as she landed roughly on her tailbone.

Shock flashed across her features, then was replaced by anger. “Yo—you! Give me my—”

“This stupid thing?” He held up her purse. “As far as I’m concerned, neither of you deserves to have it.”

His anger willed his body forward. He obliged, not stopping to think or second-guess. He stalked out of the alley and threw the purse ten feet into the air. It caught on the flagpole of a building.

Standing on shaking heels, the woman tried to wipe the filth off her ass. “I… I—How _dare_ you—”

“You need to get out of this alley,” he said in a low, soft voice. He kneeled at the side of the groaning thief and began checking for injuries.

The woman fled—but not before she spat out one last remark. “If you won’t stamp them out, who will?”

 _Who, indeed?_ wondered Adrien.

****

This incident sparked two changes in Adrien Agreste’s life.

The first was a change in his costume. With Plagg’s assistance, any distinguishing features of Chat Noir were removed, leaving only impenetrable black leather, his staff, and his boots—plus, a hood.

The second change occurred when Adrien realized his passion for unearthing the secret crimes of Gotham’s elite.

Why he tracked that woman down and staked out her house, he couldn’t quite say. He just… needed to know what she was, underneath those layers of wealth and polish.

He didn’t have Alya’s investigative skills, nor Marinette’s organized and rational brain. But he made up for the lack of those things with sheer obstinacy—something he possessed in spades.

The woman’s name was Sandra Dalton

Chat Noir watched and waited for a week. He found out what she and her husband each did for a living, and he unearthed her extramarital affairs.

He found her favorite bar and dangled his civilian self in front of her like bait. Plied full of drinks, she divulged information about her life that he would have never learned as Chat Noir. Nothing immediately incriminating, but enough to point him in the direction of potential indiscretions.

And then he broke into her house and robbed her.

On the surface, it was a straightforward case of burglary. The disrupted file cabinets were hardly noticed, in lieu of the more valuable items stolen.

Then, evidence of the Daltons’ tax fraud leaked online. $457,000 of the Dalton’s unreported income now under intense scrutiny, Adrien finally felt satisfied.

****

One night, while seated at a bar, Adrien felt a tap on his shoulder. When he turned around, he was facing a sleek, toned woman in her early 40s. Her long, brown hair looked soft to the touch, and there was a captivating kind of intelligence in her brown eyes.

Immediately, he knew that if the opportunity presented itself, he wouldn’t be opposed to sleeping with this woman.

"You're Adrien Agreste, aren't you?" she said, smiling a little.

"I might be.” He’d never liked being recognized in public. Luckily, it didn’t happen nearly so often in the States. “And who are you?"

“Rebecca.” She offered him a hand, and he raised it to his lips and kissed it. She gave him an indulgent smile, amusement in her eyes. She continued, "I followed your father's work for a time. It was a shame what happened."

So, she was a sycophant.

“Yeah. It was a shame he didn’t get more time for what he did.” He didn’t bother to keep the edge from his voice.

Rebecca hummed. “Of course. No arguments there. Can I buy you a drink?”

She bought him a martini.

Adrien wasn’t a stranger to the affections of women, but there was something gratifying about the attentions of _this_ woman, with her sleek hair and sparkling eyes. They continued chatting, and Adrien liked how comfortable he felt around her.

After ten or fifteen minutes, he knocked back his second martini, cringing at the bitter taste.

Rebecca started to ply him with questions—strange ones, but Adrien didn’t mind. He felt giddy to be sitting next to such a beautiful woman.

A third martini materialized in front of him. Adrien tried to wink at Rebecca over the glass. Instead, he ended up blinking both eyes blearily. She laughed.

A sound seemed to catch her attention, and she turned her head, momentarily distracted. A black blur darted out from somewhere near Adrien’s person and slammed into the rum and coke in front of her. Ice cubes and dark liquid spilled onto the lap of Rebecca’s gray dress.

“Oh,” she gasped. “I—How unexpected. I’ll go clean up. Please don’t go anywhere.” She stroked his forearm with a soft hand and leaned in close to him. “I’d love to continue our conversation somewhere more private.

Her silhouette looked blurred as she stood up, and Adrien felt himself nod vigorously.

Once she’d disappeared, Adrien asked, “Plagg, what the hell are you doing?” His tongue felt oddly clunky in his mouth.

Hidden under the ledge of the bar, Plagg buzzed around Adrien’s hip like a distressed hummingbird. “That lady put something in your drink, Adrien. I saw it! I think she might’ve drugged the last one, too.”

“Wha—”

“Kid, you need to get out of here. But first,” said the kwami, jabbing a tiny paw into Adrien’s stomach. “You need to start metabolizing the drugs in your system—now!”

“Plahh—Oww!” Adrien said, rubbing the skin on his arm that Plagg had pinched. The kwami flew as high as he dared in public, until he was level with Adrien’s chest. “Focus, Adrien!” he said, clapping his paws. “Having a Miraculous means you have a high resistance to poison, remember? You can sober up fast if you want to. Just… will yourself to do it!!!”

Using his brain felt like trying to light a wet candle. But Plagg looked so worried that Adrien actually felt bad for him. He persisted.

Plagg attempted to drag him by the shirt sleeve off the barstool, in the direction of the entrance. Adrien, blinking rapidly, grabbed the counter to keep himself from falling off the stool. He was surprised by how quickly his cognizance was returning.

“Plagg, it’s alright—it’s alright,” he assured him, scooping him into his pocket.

What had Rebecca been asking about? _She was asking me about my father,_ he realized. Had she… Had she mentioned Tibet? “I’m going to play along for information,” he whispered, ignoring Plagg’s protests.

A moment later, Rebecca slid back into the bar seat next to his. He gave her a sloppy smile.

He humored her for another few questions. Finally, she said, "Adrien, there's actually someone I’d love for you to meet." She tugged on his hand and pulled him off the stool. He followed her to the back of the bar, making his movements as clumsy as possible.

She slid into a booth with only one occupant. Adrien tried to scrutinize the man as discreetly as possible. He looked two or three years older than Adrien. Black, but maybe mixed race, with his lighter skin. He was a handsome guy, with a rectangular face and firm jawline. He wore a pleasant smile and a pressed white shirt that he made look relaxed, rather than stuffy.

The young man stood and offered Adrien a hand. "Wow, it's good to meet you, man. I'm Kendall Lawson."

Playing up the I’ve-just-been-drugged-by-a-stranger card, Adrien clasped the hand and lost his balance, toppling into the booth. “You too, dude.”

Kendall began questioning him about his life, modeling career, ambitions for the future. Adrien fed him answers, intrigued by wherever this was going.

Then, out of the blue—

“Are you aware of your father’s previous activities as Hawkmoth?”

The question was like a punch to the stomach. But he hesitated for only a fraction of a second. If they already knew, then why lie?

"Yes."

Kendall leaned forward, obviously eager, but kept his voice calm. "That's good to hear, Adrien. That'll make this conversation a productive one." He continued, "Did you know what he was doing at the time, or did you find out after?"

"I found out while he was Hawkmoth." That much was true.

"Did you ever meet your father's kwami, the butterfly?"

"Yes," replied Adrien. He wouldn't give them Nooroo's name.

"Did you ever witness Gabriel's kwami complain about the way he used his powers?"

Adrien ground his teeth. "Yes. Often."

"Did his kwami ever prevent or inhibit Gabriel from using his powers?"

"Not that I know of."

"Do you know why that is?"

Adrien hesitated. "He... Was very loyal to my father." _Enslaved_ , thought Adrien. He blinked, trying to distract himself from the anger that had suddenly welled up.

"Adrien," chimed in Rebecca in her soft voice. "Did your father's kwami obey him out of loyalty or out of a compulsion?"

His eyes darted to the side involuntarily. "Um, I'm not sure."

An obvious evasion. 

They both eyed him critically, and Adrien's palms began to sweat.

“Rebecca,” said Kendall, shooting the woman a meaningful look. “Why don’t you get our friend another drink?”

This time, Adrien recognized the foreign bitterness in the martini. He felt the drug course through his body, and he consciously kicked his metabolism into higher gear. He didn’t entirely eliminate it from his body, as it helped him slip into his role more easily.

"Now, we're all friends here, Adrien," asserted Kendall, as if saying it would make it true. "So tell us, did your dad's kwami obey him because he wanted to or because he had to?"

 _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ Adrien thought. _Just give them something_. "I think the kwami was forced to," said Adrien. "I... I don't like thinking about... About what my father did." He finished off the rest of the martini in front of him.

Rebecca gave a sympathetic hum and reached across the table and put her hand on his. "We understand, Adrien. What he did was so—" She glanced at Kendall, who finished her sentence. "Terrible. Just terrible."

Adrien nodded docilely.

They asked him a few more questions. Finally, Rebecca asked him where he was staying so she could call him a cab.

"The Grand Portellier," he lied.

"Well Adrien," said Kendall, extending a hand, which Adrien shook sloppily. "You're not going to remember this conversation at all in the morning, but it was a pleasure meeting you."

 _Wanna bet, bitch?_ thought Adrien.

Thirty minutes later, Adrien shut the door to his suite. Plagg, who had been silent for far longer than he liked, darted out of Adrien’s pocket. “Those two are _bad news_ ,” he declared with folded arms. “And not the good kind of bad news, like I am.”

“I know,” said Adrien, peeling off his shirt. He tossed it onto an armchair.

“Are you going to call Ma—”

“No,” interrupted Adrien quickly. “You and I are going to keep an eye on those two and figure out what to do on our own. Don’t worry, Plagg.”

****

He was in an apartment in New Gotham packed with rich university students.

The blond girl next to him—Elle was her name—slid an iPhone with four lines of coke on top of it across the table to him. He picked up the rolled hundred-dollar bill beside it and railed all four lines.

“Hey! That wasn’t all for you,” Elle protested. Adrien gave her an insolent grin, and she rolled her eyes but smiled back. She sidled closer to him, and he wrapped an arm loosely around her waist. He looked down at her expectant, pretty face. Her pupils were so dilated he couldn’t even tell her eye color. They went for the kiss simultaneously.

 _Annnnd, here we go with another one,_ thought Adrien. For some reason, that thought depressed him. He excused himself to go to the bathroom.

Adrien looked in the mirror and cringed. His eyes were red and watery, with pupils shot to hell. He was sporting two or three days of uneven stubble.

There was a little baggie on the floor. He picked it up, then made quick work of its contents.

 _I hate everyone in this fucking apartment,_ he realized, wiping his nose with a hand. _Including myself._

God, if his friends could see him. What would Nino or Chloe say? What would _Marinette_ —

There was a commotion in the living room. Adrien washed up and exited the bathroom, peering his head cautiously around the wall to find three men with ski masks and guns in the living room. His peers, dazed, were relinquishing their valuables—smartphones, wallets, jewelry, watches.

 _Fuck,_ he thought. He didn’t hesitate to slip back into the bathroom and call upon his transformation. Plagg flew out of his jacket pocket and seemed to scrutinize him for a moment before disappearing.

It wasn’t hard to incapacitate the three robbers. No shots fired, and he tied the three men to a table with somebody’s Gotham University sweatshirt. He tied the knot so tight it left all three men wincing.

Still transformed and unrecognizable, Adrien picked up the black canvas bag of loot and looked into it.

He laughed. This all made no sense.

He pulled out a Swarovski-studded iPhone and examined it curiously for a moment. He scratched at its surface with a clawed fingernail, and a line of pink crystals fell to the ground.

Finally, he glanced across the faces of the twenty-odd strung-out kids in front of him. They gazed back in complacent confusion. “I don’t feel like giving you pissfarts your stuff back,” he told them.

He stepped onto the balcony, extended his baton, and disappeared.

****

One week later, a transformed Adrien slipped through the second story window of the townhouse on 82nd Street. The walnut floors and bronze and stained-glass light fixtures in the room were probably a hundred years old. Vintage floral wallpaper in Prussian blue covered the walls of the upstairs sitting room, though it was nearly concealed in some places by clusters of framed photos.

After five days of staking out this house, Adrien was itching to play the mahogany instrument in the corner of the room.

Leather brushed against antique wood as he slid onto the piano bench. He played a few simple warm-up exercises, acclimating to the sensation of touching the keys through gloves.

He settled on playing a few classical pieces, relishing the way the notes lingered in the air of the empty townhouse. He’d just keyed the first few notes of Debussy’s Reverie when the sound of the front door opening reached him from downstairs. His heartbeat jumped, but he played on steadily.

Downstairs, there was silence, then footsteps to the kitchen. A rattling noise. _Third kitchen drawer, where the handgun is,_ Adrien thought. The person was careful to avoid the spots that creaked on their way up the stairs, but Adrien tracked their steps all the same. Little escaped his hearing when he was transformed.

“You know, there are courts in this city that wouldn’t even prosecute me for shooting you in the back of the head right now.”

“Because your father is a judge?” Adrien asked. He pulled his hands from the piano and turned to face the young man who had emerged from the stairwell. Black, medium height and build. He had a handsome face and a clenched jaw.

The man stepped forward, handgun trained on Adrien. “No, because you broke into my home, motherfucker. This isn’t New York. This is Gotham, and the Financial District, no less. Nobody’s going to hold a candlelight vigil for you if you die right now.”

“Then I’ll make this worth your time, Mr. Lawson.” The man didn’t react to Adrien’s casual use of his name. “I want in on your operation.”

“Excuse me? What operation?”

“You’re hitting the elite,” stated Adrien. “I’ve linked your activities to the robberies of the Beischel, Andropov, and Solarnas families in the last two months.

“Do you have any proof for these claims, Mr...?”

“They call me Poacher. Do a little research on me, Mr. Lawson. You’ll find there’s a lot of similarity in the work you and I have each been doing. I think we should work together.”

In the center of the room, there was a coffee table and chairs. Kendall seated himself in the leather chair that faced the piano bench where Adrien sat. He rested his gun on his thigh, then settled his gaze on Adrien again. “Let’s say I did have an operation targeting the elite. What benefit would you bring to my team that I don’t already have?”

“I’m a metahuman,” said Adrien, referencing the term for humans with supernatural abilities. He hadn’t even known such people existed until coming to Gotham. “Enhanced strength and senses, and I’m a pretty good fighter. I think my abilities would compliment the, ah—artifacts—that you have at your disposal.”

Kendall Lawson let out a short breath. “So you know about the Miraculouses, huh?

“Not much. But the details were in the news reports if you knew what to look for.”

From his chair seven or eight feet away, Kendall squinted at him, expression both discomfited and calculating. “You French or something?” he finally asked. “You sound like it.”

“Oui.”

“They got a bunch of Miraculous users in Paris, don’t they? Is that how you know what they are?”

“Yeah. Those fuckers made my life very complicated,” replied Adrien, rather honestly.

“Okay, well,” Kendall punctuated the words with a clap of his hands. “Now that you’ve broken into my house and had your say, I think that’s enough for one visit. I’ll have my people look into your story, and if we want you on the team, we’ll be in touch.”

“Fair enough,” agreed Adrien, preparing to leave.

“One last thing, Poacher.” Adrien stopped at the window and looked back. “Why are you doing this?”

Adrien gave the man an insincere smile. “For the good people of Gotham, of course.”

Kendall looked unamused as he crossed his arms. “I know what thirst for revenge looks like. Who is it?”

A pair of gray eyes surfaced in his mind and pinned him with an unfeeling stare. Panic rose in his chest, but he quelled it.

"Adrien Agreste," he said, his own eyes hard. He relished in the surprise that flashed across Kendall's face. "If I join your team, then we destroy his life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I had no idea this chapter would be *so* hard to write.
> 
> It is rather dark, probably the darkest this fic will get. This story doesn't center around Adrien, but he's our antagonist right now. I didn't want him to be a flat antagonist that's easy to hate—I wanted you to really feel and understand his choices, then make up your mind. There's always two sides to a breakup.
> 
> K, that's all. If you want to talk about writing or ML or the DCU, please feel free to talk to me on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/samwitch-42
> 
> I'm also interested in finding a couple of people who want to beta-read! If you're enjoying the story and want to help me make it better through beta-reading, please message me on Tumblr.
> 
> Chapter 4 is part-way written, and it is from Damian's perspective. It'll be a good time.


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